Kingpin's Promise

by A G Henderson

  Kingpin’s Promise

  A.G. Henderson

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons in this story are 18 or older.

  Contents

  Kingpin’s Promise

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Blurb

  “I’m coming for you.”

  Those were Hawk Mason’s last words to me before he was led away in handcuffs.

  They could’ve been comforting; I knew they weren’t meant that way.

  After all, I was the reason for his arrest.

  Now, my three-year reprieve is at an end.

  His release means I have to face the facts.

  Fact one: He has every reason to hate me.

  Fact two: He doesn’t know the meaning of the word mercy.

  Fact three: I’ve been in love with him since we spent a perfect and forbidden month together.

  The cop and the kingpin.

  We never would’ve worked.

  I just need my heart to remember that long enough to survive his promise.

  This stand-alone novella will put a smile on your face and light a fire...other places. Cozy up with this relentless kingpin, the woman he can’t forget, and a guaranteed HEA.

  Chapter One

  Jasmine

  I'd been planning how I would survive this day for three years, eight months, nine days, sixteen hours, and about thirty-two minutes give or take a few seconds.

  With about three hours to go before the day my world might end was officially over, I felt pretty good. So far, nothing more interesting had happened than my partner actually leaving me some egg rolls when they brought Chinese to the precinct. I dunked the last bite of one into an unhealthy amount of soy sauce before popping it in my mouth. More delicious flavor exploded across my tongue while I looked around the room, patting myself on the back for a job well done.

  It wasn’t every day I got to feel like an honest to God schemer. So yeah, back pats were deserved. They didn't even have to be imaginary for a change because I was completely alone in the evidence room.

  Now, you might think that having a fancy badge that gave you access to an evidence room was all fun and games.

  Maybe it was for other precincts in other cities.

  Not my city.

  The police presence in Raleigh, North Carolina had what I liked to call LAS. Otherwise known as Lazy Ass Syndrome. It was why the evidence room remained in a constant state that could best be described as post-tornado. Thus, I had enough leverage to talk my boss into letting me hide away down here.

  Assuming the worst happened—knowing me, it totally would—my apocalyptic scenario would have to get through the rest of the force upstairs and several locked doors before reaching me. And in that time, I could do what the smartest people alive did when impending doom came their way.

  Take the emergency exit and get the hell out of dodge.

  Or maybe it's time to face the music.

  I groaned and shook my head, trying to banish that thought before it took root. But that was impossible. I'd thought the same thing at least once a day for the last three years, eight months, nine days, and—

  You see where I'm going with this?

  There weren't many things heavy as the weight of guilt lingering on top of the soul. And I had that in spades to be sure. How could I not? Each time someone got hurt because of increasing violence in the city, whether it was another officer or a civilian, I wanted to crawl under a bed, huddle in on myself, and promptly disappear.

  It was my fault.

  I wasn't out there throwing fists or pulling triggers, but there had been a semblance of control three years ago.

  At least before the man who kept Raleigh’s underworld in check finally found himself on the receiving end of charges he couldn't shake.

  There'd been irrefutable, video evidence of his misdeeds all because I'd messed up. It wasn't enough to put him away long term. But on the day he'd been escorted out of that courtroom in cuffs, Hawk Mason had pinned me with his gray eyes and whispered one promise as he went by.

  “I'm coming for you.”

  Yet here I was. Twenty-one hours into apocalypse day and there hadn't been any sign of him. I was positive today was when he got released, so I didn't understand why he wasn't here. As crazy as it sounded, I was almost...bummed.

  He forgot about you, said the logical side of my brain. Be thankful.

  Except logic didn't have any power where Hawk and I were concerned, and it never had.

  A police officer and a kingpin had no business being involved together. It was unheard of. Not to mention a violation of everything I was supposed to stand for.

  But that hadn't stopped us from becoming very involved indeed.

  At least in secret.

  A spike of desire landed in my core and my center throbbed, thighs clenching. I bit down on my lip and listened to make sure no one was heading this way as my hand drifted down the front of my uniform. The impropriety of it alone brought a low moan from me, but it was nothing like the sounds I used to make with Hawk before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

  I spread my legs a little wider, remembering how he'd pushed them out of the way with his knee before—

  “Officer Gates,” said a no-nonsense voice on the other end of my radio.

  I nearly fell from the chair before snapping my legs closed and sitting at attention. Clearing my throat, I grabbed the radio on my shoulder. “Yes, Captain Holt?”

  “Report to my office immediately,” he said.

  My throat worked, swallowing a sudden lump. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

  “Why are you still talking? Start steppin’, Gates.”

  Pompous dick.

  “Of course, sir.”

  I fussed at the tight knot of brown hair atop my head, wishing I could find a reason to delay long enough for him to forget about me. Being topside for apocalypse day felt risky, but I didn't have a good excuse for disobeying a direct order either.

  What would I tell the captain?

  Can't we do this over facetime? Hawk Mason got released today. I'm fairly certain that he's hunting for me right this moment and will murder me on sight. I know you don't give a damn about me, Captain, but think of sweet Lucille. She's just an innocent, cute doggo. What will she do if I don't come home?

  I'd be lucky if he so much as blinked at me. Captain Holt was a robot without all the perks that should've come with it. He had no sense of humor, a shallow pool of emotions, and ruled by the law of I'm in charge so I can make this someone else's problem.

  Pushing my seat back, I stood and shoved aside lingering memories of gray eyes and a rock-hard body moving behind me in the dark. Of huge hands spanning my waist, and brick digging into my palms the one time we'd both lost control and Hawk had fucked me mercilessly in a shadowed alley like the ruthless predator he was.

  The hair at the nape of my neck rose once I'd scaled the steps from evidence to the main floor. I stopped for a minute, gaze swinging around the room, but there was nothing unusual to see. Captain had y
et to put more officers on the night shift despite the uptick in crime rates, so I traded a quick nod with the three officers huddled in one corner, sipping stale coffee, before letting my focus land on my friend and coworker, Gina.

  As the only dispatcher currently on shift, she was swamped and frazzled, holding up a phone while furiously writing down notes and checking city scanners with her free hand.

  I raised my brows, tilting my head towards the Captain's office at the rear of the precinct. Maybe she'd have some idea what he wanted with me since I couldn't even begin to guess with his blinds closed the way they were.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed, shaking her head.

  I gave her a brave thumbs up despite my inner panic. My nerves were going haywire as I made the short trip to his office—a sense like someone had me in their crosshairs lingering—and I tried to use logic to soothe them.

  It's been three years, I told myself. Hawk probably forgot about you. He's somewhere balls deep in the first willing woman he could find, and you're nothing but an afterthought. Like always. You've never been anyone's first pick, Gates. Why would that change now?

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge those constricting thoughts. The idea was to stop freaking out. Not make myself want to curl up on the sofa with a glass of wine and cry about how goddamn lame my life was. Lord knows I'd thrown enough pity parties to last a lifetime.

  I rapped my knuckles against the door. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

  “Come in,” he said.

  I twisted the knob. My body shouted one last warning that I should dash into the night, take my chances on the street, and I ignored it.

  Then I stepped inside and forgot how to breathe.

  Gray eyes cemented my feet to the floor and sent my heart plummeting into my stomach. I could almost hear it screaming during the descent before it landed with a splash that sent acid everywhere.

  My lungs seized.

  My body jolted.

  My core burned.

  All because of the man sitting in the Captain's chair like it was any other day.

  Hawk watched me with sharp eyes appropriate for his namesake, and I tried to remember what commands pumped my heart and expanded my lungs as I took him in like a woman starved.

  His blonde hair was shorter than I remembered, faded on both sides. A bit of slightly darker scruff shadowed a rugged jaw, framing pale lips that held a sardonic twist. He'd added to his already impressive mass, muscles bulging beneath the sweater that looked painted on his olive skin.

  My eyes followed the path of him like he was a winding, mountain road and I knew every curve and dip. By instinct, I searched for his hands.

  Every part of Hawk Mason had featured in my wet dreams over these three years, but nothing got more play than those long, calloused fingers and the twin skulls that decorated the backs of both palms.

  Why his hands when he didn't have any other tattoos?

  I’d never been bold enough to ask him.

  “Don't just stand there,” he said, voice smooth and deep enough to stroke between my thighs. “Close the door and have a seat.”

  I moved on autopilot, only managing to spare a glance for Captain Holt seated beside me. He looked...annoyed more than anything else, smoothing at his graying mustache. But that didn't give me much to go on. He used that same face for cold biscuits and homicides.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, wishing my voice came out stronger than it did.

  I sounded weak, nervous, scared. Sad thing was how accurate those three emotions were. The time for back pats and bravery were long gone. They’d bled out of me the moment I saw him. This was worse than my nightmares. At least in them, he’d been forced to fight perilous battles to get to me. Instead, I got the distinct impression I was being offered up to the big bad wolf.

  “Relax, Jazzy,” Hawk said.

  Judging by his flash of a smile, my flinch didn’t go unnoticed. How could it? He couldn't stand nicknames, and he'd never used one for me. Until now.

  That, more than anything let me know where we stood as he continued.

  “We need to talk business,” he said, eyes flashing. “And payback.”

  Yep. That confirmed it.

  The only guy I'd ever loved hated me.

  And I had no one to blame but myself.

  Chapter Two

  Hawk

  I needed to get something off my chest.

  Time spent behind bars wasn't what changed men who went to prison. Not exactly, anyway.

  It wasn't the uninterested shrinks counting the hours until they could get home. It definitely wasn’t the days spent sitting in circles, talking through our fucking feelings and the events that had gotten us there.

  No, that was all bullshit.

  What changed you so insidiously that you’d eventually wake up and no longer recognize the person staring back in the mirror was the goddamn boredom.

  Hours piled into days that fell into weeks spent doing the same exact things over and over and over again. Wake up, eat, workout, eat, sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled the strings I still held in the outside world to get out of being on any of the workforces meant to keep us busy, because the schedule had been beyond mind-numbing.

  Yet it hadn’t been enough.

  Three years, eight months, nine days, sixteen hours and some change should’ve been plenty of time to get over the woman who’d been my doom. The same woman who’d nearly been the final nail in my coffin.

  Except it hadn’t been enough time.

  One look at her and all those impulses that had seen me thrown behind bars came surging back to the forefront like we could pick up right where we left off.

  My ring finger burned, and I absently ran my thumb’s nail around it in a slow circle while I stared at my very own walking, talking downfall.

  Jasmine Gates didn’t look like she had what it would take to bring a man like me to my knees. Then again, didn’t I know better than anyone how deceiving looks could be?

  Her brown hair was the warm shade of milk chocolate, shorter than I remembered it being. What was it called...a pixie cut? The short style worked for her, framing her pretty face, hazel eyes, and full, pink lips that had haunted my fucking nightmares for years.

  Her uniform didn’t do her body justice, but it was easy enough for me to picture her tall, lithe frame the way it had been the last time she’d been exposed to me. All lean muscle, small, perky breasts, and hips made for my palms to hold onto.

  Why her? I asked myself, and not for the first time.

  Overseeing a criminal empire had its perks. One of them being that there was never a shortage of ready, willing women to go around. Once upon a time, I’d kept girls on my arm who could’ve stepped on stage at any fashion show in the country. Then, after a particularly rough night, I’d stumbled on Jasmine in one of my bars, drowning her sorrows. As fucked as it sounded, there’d been something about the morose brunette that had called to my cold, dead heart. Something in those hazel eyes when they flicked around the room and found me in a corner that said, we’re the same.

  The rest, as they say, was history.

  History I was eager to bury so I could move on with my life.

  I studied her again, eyes trailing down the column of her neck until I spotted the slight flutter of her pulse. She was nervous, maybe even afraid. Good. She should be after what she’d done.

  My heartbeat sped, blood burning as it rushed through my veins. An urge to lunge over the desk, take her hair in my fist, and bring those haunting lips down on my already stiff cock rode me hard. Sheer force of will allowed me to push it down. There’d be time for that after I received my due.

  “Captain Holt,” I said, tearing my gaze away from the woman that had consumed my every waking thought. “I’d like some privacy for this conversation. Make yourself scarce.”

  His eyes narrowed further, becoming small, blue specks in the weathered lines of his face. I kept my features neutral. We both knew he’d accept whatever I said.
Not everything changed in three years. Growing a spine during that time frame was one such impossible task.

  “Of course,” he mumbled.

  Good boy. Do as you’re told so I don’t have to embarrass you in your own precinct.

  He pushed to his feet, sparing Jasmine the slightest glance before he walked out and closed the door again. Another spike of anger pounded into the back of my neck. What a piece of shit. I knew I wouldn’t really hurt her, despite the fury that had corroded every organ in my body, but he didn’t know that.

  Yet he was willing to go along with this anyway as long as it meant he didn’t have to be involved.

  “Your Captain is a pussy,” I told her, letting my gaze land on its target again.

  Her brows furrowed slightly before she smoothed her expression. I watched her mind spin and wondered what was going through it before she crossed her legs at the knee and lifted her chin. The sound of steel reinforcing her spine was only audible to me because I knew what I was seeing.

  “Hawk Mason,” she said slowly. “Is that small talk I’m hearing? I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to chat about work.”

  I was glad my hands were folded. Squeezing them together kept me from slamming them into the desk. She had no idea the kind of hair-trigger my normally nonexistent temper was on. Seeing her shrug off her fear was pushing buttons she didn’t know the consequences of pushing.

  Sooner or later, she’d hit the red, shiny one, and that’d be all she wrote.

  “You’re right.” I leaned back in my seat, the picture of calm indifference when I was anything but. “No thanks to you, I couldn’t help but hear about how poorly things have gone in my absence.”

  She bit down on her lip. “We’re handling it.”

  “Handling it. That’s what you call the bullshit that’s been happening around here?”

  Jasmine folded her arms. “I’m a glorified desk jockey, Hawk. You know that. Don’t act like this is my fault.”

  I lifted a brow. “Isn’t it? I had this city firmly under control before your fuck up. I’d be well within my rights to lay this at your feet.”